


Gentle Touches

by Illegible_Scribble



Series: 31 Days of Frodo/Sam, 2018 [20]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Comfort, Cuddles, Emyn Muil, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Frottage, Love Confessions, M/M, Mid-Quest, Smoochtober 2018, fluff gone sexual, sponge bath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-05 01:03:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16357646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illegible_Scribble/pseuds/Illegible_Scribble
Summary: Soft caresses that serve as a means of waking one another up, eventually evolve into something more for Frodo and Sam, culminating in a surprisingly pleasurable sponge bath in Ithilien.





	Gentle Touches

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this prompt](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/132744) for Smoochtober 2018, #20: Palm Kiss.

For their weariness and exhausted feet, they were relieved more than pleasantly bewildered to find a small cave hidden away in the walls of the Emyn Muil. They knew they were being followed, and could only take so much rest at a time – but knew also there were points of exhaustion that would allow them no further without a rest. Besides, a cave was a rare thing in this maze of stones, and a secure spot to camp for the night.

“I'll take the first watch,” Sam said, not waiting for a discussion to begin, as he unrolled his blanket, and gestured for Frodo to combine their bedstuffs and rest.

Frodo looked as though he were going to object, but with a weary sigh conceded, and padded out his sleeping gear with Sam's, before clumsily sitting down.

They shared a precious few nibbles of a _lembas_ wafer, before Sam bid Frodo a sound rest, as the latter lay down. “Wake me in only a few hours, Sam? You need rest as well.”

“Aye, of course.” Sam nodded, doing his best to be reassuring as he settled at the lip their little cave. They both knew Sam only said it to appease Frodo, and would take a much longer shift than was necessarily 'fair' – Frodo was too exhausted to object, and Sam too stubborn to let it be otherwise. He could see the weight of the Ring beginning to bend his master's neck earthwards as they grew closer to the Black Lands, and if Sam could do anything to help bolster Frodo's strength to bear it, he would.

Sam leaned back, purposely wedging a sharp bit of rock between his shoulders to keep him awake longer (or so he hoped).

Left there to his thoughts, he wondered, in the end, what would become of them.

From what he could tell through the mists coating the stone labyrinth surrounding them, it was past midnight when he realized he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. It pained him to wake Frodo out of slumber, but someone had to keep an eye out for that stinker, Gollum.

“Master?” he murmured, kneeling carefully at Frodo's side. Frodo looked the picture of peace, now, no tautness of muscle in his face, nor disturbed twitch from ill dreams. _He's beautiful,_ Sam thought, loathing still to wake him, _like a fine Elvish statue, but for the dirt._ With a gentle, almost reverent touch, Sam brushed back a lock of hair from Frodo's forehead, before letting his hand trail to his master's cheek for a momentary caress. He froze in place as Frodo stirred, at first thinking the touch would be found offensive and unwanted. That was proven flatly untrue as Frodo made a soft, pleased noise in his throat, and pressed his cheek back into Sam's palm.

Sam felt himself going red, but as it quite appeared to be something Frodo liked, he continued the caresses with his thumb, wishing he had soap and water handy to clean off the dirt streaking his master's face. After some moments, Frodo's lips curled into a smile, and he opened his eyes – which, as ever, were like galaxies spun into an ocean of blue. “Good morning, Sam,” he murmured sleepily.

“Well, t'ain't exactly morning,” Sam offered a hand to help Frodo sit up, “sometime past midnight, I'm thinking – all I know for certain is I can't keep my eyes open no more.”

He had expected this, but nevertheless Frodo's face looked gently reprimanding. “Wake me earlier next time, please? I want both of us to get as much rest as we can.”

Sam again made a promise he would not keep, as he and Frodo traded places. It pained Sam that Frodo now settled at the lip of their cave with only his jacket – while Sam had the blankets and warm spot Frodo had just left – but Frodo smiled at him before he closed his eyes. His smile, promising all would be well.

 

–

 

Over the many nights that followed – even after Frodo had sworn Gollum to their services as a guide – Sam found the caresses to Frodo's face irresistible, when waking him in the morn or to change watch. He always seemed to wake at the touch – but sleepily, pleasantly, reminding Sam almost of a normal morning back at Bag End. He would smile, and hum, leaning in to Sam's touch like a cat, and it was enough to (figuratively) melt Sam's heart, that he could comfort his master so, even with something so small and simple.

There was one time, as he stirred for a likely shift-change, he felt his hair was tentatively being brushed aside, before there was a gentle touch to his cheek. He realized, then, that it _was_ a great comfort – small, but warm. A reminder of home, and that care and softness could still be found in lands so treacherous as these.

He nuzzled Frodo's palm, and heard a weary but sweet laugh. “Do you like it, too?”

“Mmhm.” Sam purred. It was wonderful.

So it was the both of them began to wake the other with these soft touches. It bothered Gollum in the mornings that they dallied with this – but it made the both of them much more amiable to his company afterwards, and so he tolerated it.

By the time they came to the woods of Ithilien, the comfort they sought from and offered one another had grown from mere touches to the face alone. Shoulders and arms had begun to be trailed by needing hands, and in the mornings palms were nuzzled open with little kisses, while at night knuckles were kissed with reverence – promises they would still be present when the other woke.

As they came to Ithilien, they began to share short periods of... cuddling, before they rested; it first began when Frodo first sat close one evening, asking if they could reminisce of the Shire, and think of what must be going on at home. Not many nights into these talks, Sam had put his arm around Frodo to stave off the evening's oncoming chill, and after it, it became a habit for them to huddle – why, even cuddle – against one another, cheek-to-cheek as they spoke in weary but pleasant murmurs.

When they came to a freshwater pond in Ithilien – untouched by a sign of evil – Sam could've collapsed and wept. He would've thought better of it had it been a warm spring, but for so much clean water he was grateful.

It was their waterskins they filled first, and after a short rest while Gollum went slinking off on his typical sneaking business, Sam offered to give Frodo a sponge bath.

The process of bringing pans of clean water back and forth became a bit arduous after a time, but it was worth every effort to see weeks of dirt disappearing from Frodo's alabaster skin, and a faint shine return to his dark hair.

Frodo shivered at first from the chill of the water, but soon found the scrubbing and the cleaning immensely refreshing, and a treat to the weariness in his muscles. Anxiety filled him at what Sam must think of the poor state of his body – wiry and veritably a ghost of what a normal hobbit ought to be – but Sam seemed not to notice it, or anyway didn't say anything. He hummed a soft tune to one of Bilbo's old walking songs, focused only on his work and applying gentle rubs when Frodo squeaked with distress at pressure being applied to one place or another. With Sam's firm but careful touch around it, and a surprising, gentle kiss, even his left shoulder and the wound therein felt better than it had in weeks.

Sam shyly left Frodo to wash the hidden places between his thighs, draping a towel over Frodo's shoulders to keep him warm, while Sam went back to the pond's edge to cycle their water again.

A thoughtful smile came over Frodo's lips as he watched Sam and washed, and his tired mind wandered without a care, down wandering paths that made him wonder, and pleasure in the thought of, what it would feel like if it were Sam's hands, here, and not his own.

Now clean at Sam's return, all he said was, “May I do the same for you?” Sam was at first reluctant about the idea, thinking it best Frodo rest while he could, but relented with Frodo's sweet insistence that he wanted to try to make Sam feel as nice as he'd made Frodo feel.

Scrubbing the dirt from Sam, and tidying up his flaxen hair was more therapeutic than Frodo had thought it would be. It was a gentle rhythm, and provided pleasing results as Sam's copper skin was progressively revealed from beneath weeks of travel, and his hair was untangled and began to shine again in the sun.

When Frodo came to working down Sam's back, and touched to a particularly knotted spot he was intent to soften, he heard Sam yelp in distress, and snatch a fistful of their nearby clothes to cover something turgid and naughty between his legs. “S-sorry, Sir, b-but I think I ought to go have a dip, if you understand me.”

For his comfort, Frodo stopped touching him. “Of course; as you like.”

Before Sam could finish pulling his legs awkwardly underneath him to stand, Frodo felt his thoughts from earlier return, and an impulse seized him. “It's- it's not for me, is it?”

Sam immediately went still, and though he was facing mostly away from Frodo, the latter could just spot a wave of red flourishing over his cheeks. “W-well, that would depend on what you'd be thinking of me, if I said yea or nay.”

“If it were nay,” said Frodo, finding it suddenly difficult to even look at the back of Sam's head, “I would be dreadfully embarrassed and terribly sorry.

“But... if it were yea,” Frodo felt a surge of heat spreading through him, “I would be very happy to, ah – help you with it, as you might say. Only if you wanted.”

Very cautiously, as if he were half expecting an orc to be behind him instead of Frodo, Sam turned his head. “And if I were wanting...?”

It felt to Frodo as though his cheeks were blazing with fire – not to mention, something more below, getting hotter and harder as the moments passed – and when he tried to speak, his voice was hoarse and thick. “Then lie down?”

Sam's gaze flickered up and down Frodo, and he wheezed a near-silent, “Oh,” as he found Frodo's flesh mirrored his own. “Oh,” he repeated, realizing Frodo truly meant everything he said. He dragged his eyes back up to meet Frodo's – as if asking what he ought to do – and in reply, Frodo nodded to the ground in gentle suggestion.

Sam's mind moved with the speed of a turtle plodding through honey, but slowly he untangled himself and lay back, as Frodo came around and in front of him, gently kneeling between his spread legs. Never in all his years had Sam Gamgee thought he would see a sight so beautiful, of Frodo there and naked, with a forest of green and gold above him.

Frodo felt equal parts thrilled and humbled at the swollen flesh that greeted him as he sat before Sam – thrilled that he could pleasure Sam in the same way he sought such pleasure, and humbled to still be wanted, though his ribs could be counted with ease, and the Ring still hung heavy from his neck.

“How would you like it?” he asked.

“Oh-” Sam had not considered as far as this, “ehm-” he looked with great want between Frodo's legs, “-rubbing?” he whispered.

Frodo smiled in assent, and leaned over to grab the still-damp bar of soap Sam had brought all the way from home. Dipping it into one of the water-filled pans, he lathered it, before straddling Sam's hips. His hands now covered with lather, he set aside the soap bar, and looking carefully at Sam for signs of pleasure or pain, slowly brought the both of them together with his hands, beginning to slicken and squeeze them.

Their whimpers and moans echoed softly through the trees, as they reveled in this perfect bubble outside the world; in this little clearing by a pond, that they could share together, the two of them alone.

To Frodo's later amusement, Sam came with the word, “Master!” on his lips, chest heaving as Frodo's seed landed on it moments after his own, and Frodo covered it all as he gently collapsed on top of Sam, breathing just as hard.

“Oh,” he murmured, absently kissing Sam's neck when his lips found it. “Dear Sam.”

Sam's arms tentatively came up around him, and a hand stroked his hair. “Sir-” he said after a long while, “-Frodo, I'm thinking we'll be needing another wash.” he felt Frodo shake with laughter, after which Frodo peeled up off of him – and as if it were the most natural thing in the world – they kissed. Not on the hand, forehead or cheek, but plainly on the mouth. It was like a summer breeze after a year of winter.

“Yes, Sam,” said Frodo, nosing him and smiling, “we will.”

 

–

 

After they had washed again, dried and redressed, they went some ways up towards a thicket of fern. Gollum was waiting for them, and while Sam insisted Frodo take a rest, he recruited the creature to show off a new leaf turning, if he had any leaves to turn.

While the rabbits and herbs finished stewing over Sam's little fire, he realized something so easy to admit to himself, ought not to be so difficult to profess to another. Even if it were, he felt something so important ought not to be unsaid.

When the stew was as done as it would ever be, Sam gathered up a bowl, and set it aside as he knelt by Frodo, waking him up with a kiss to the forehead. They shared a brief moment of small talk, and Sam offered an explanation for the rabbits as he handed the bowl to Frodo. Then, Sam said of a sudden, “I love you.”

Frodo paused, looking up at him, the stars in his eyes shining with delighted surprise, and he slowly smiled. “I love you, too.”

They knew now, that no matter what was to come after, they had this to share between them, always.


End file.
